


It's Time

by onlyastoryteller



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22515391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyastoryteller/pseuds/onlyastoryteller
Summary: Timmy asks the question, "Is it time?"
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 54
Kudos: 282





	It's Time

**Author's Note:**

> On Wednesday night, I saw that Instagram story and was seized with an idea. It felt good, because it's been a while since that has happened and I've actually had the time to execute it the way I imagined.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

_May 25th, 2016_

Armie opened the door to the bathroom and returned to the bedroom, where he had left Timmy sprawled facedown on the mattress, limbs spread wide as if Armie was still sleeping beneath them. 

He smiled. Timmy’s light snores rattled out from under the cocoon of blankets he had created in Armie’s absence. The morning sunlight illuminated the top of his head, his dark curls shiny and chaotic, the only bit of him showing a pure representation of the boy buried within. 

Armie slid back into the bed, tugging the edges of the blanket free and gathering Timmy to him once more. The kid’s limbs were pliant and soft as Armie arranged him back into their favorite position: Timmy curled into Armie’s chest and Armie holding him close. 

As he let Timmy’s curls tickle his nose and drew in a scent that he had come to associate with equal parts excitement and contentment, Armie wondered at the way his entire life had flipped upside down in the past few weeks. Damn, but he liked this kid. More than liked, if he was being honest. 

It had initially taken him by surprise when, during their first rehearsal, kissing Timmy had stirred something inside him. But as their time together grew to fill every waking moment — and every non-waking moment — it had surprised him even more to find out that Timmy seemed to be equally into _him_. 

He still wasn’t sure what this thing between them actually was: a way to pass the time while in Italy, or something else? Either way, he was grateful for it. 

He ran his fingers down Timmy’s spine, letting them bump over the ridges of his vertebrae and glide along his silky skin. He smiled as Timmy began to stir in his arms.

Timmy stretched one leg with a tiny grunt, and then inhaled and burrowed his face further into Armie’s chest.

“Is it time?” he murmured, his voice sticky with sleep.

“Not yet,” Armie said. His tone hovered just above a whisper, sitting in that rumble zone that made Timmy shiver. He flattened his palm on the boy’s back, sweeping upward in a comforting motion. “We’ve got another hour or so before we have to leave for set.”

Timmy sighed contentedly. He tipped his face up towards Armie’s, eyes still closed, lashes spread like tiny spiders across his pale cheeks. He began to gently nudge his way up Armie’s chin with his lips, breathing deeply through his nose. Armie met him, but when he pressed his lips into a kiss, Timmy’s remained slack.

“Do you want to sleep, or do you want to kiss?” Armie asked, with a soft laugh.

“Mmmm. Both,” Timmy said.

Armie snickered, then rolled him onto his back. Timmy’s eyes popped open.

“You sleep,” Armie said. “I’ll take care of the kissing.” He fastened onto the sweet spot at the base of Timmy’s throat and sucked lightly.

Timmy didn’t go back to sleep. There wasn’t time. 

* * *

_April 4, 2017_

His mouth set in a flat, grim line, Armie opened the door to the hospital room and entered, without the preamble of knocking and waiting for an invitation. He stopped short just inside, his stomach seizing at the sight of Timmy’s thin, pale form lying motionless on the bed, tubes trailing from his arm. His eyes were closed, ringed with deep blue shadows on the nearly translucent skin of his cheeks.

Armie swallowed, the saliva lodging in his throat like a marble. He had been so afraid something like this would happen. So fucking _afraid_. But had he done anything about it? No. He had sat by and watched as Timmy got skinnier, paler, more fragile-looking by the minute. Had smiled and joked with Timmy about his mouse-sized portions of rabbit food and the ease with which his hand could span the kid’s arm. Had noted the circles under Timmy’s eyes, the way he would fall asleep anywhere with very little warning, and the way it had gotten harder and harder to rouse him from sleep at all. 

He should have _said_ something. Put a stop to it.

With a sick feeling in his chest, he pulled a chair across the room to the bedside and settled into it, planning to remain until Timmy woke. And he would wake, the doctors had promised. He was just malnourished and dehydrated, and had gone into hypothermic shock from filming in buckets of “rain” for eight hours. He needed some saline and some rest, and he’d be released in the morning, with a new, strict diet designed to put the weight back on.

Armie gently took Timmy’s hand in his — it was still cold — and waited.

A couple of hours later, he had dozed off in the chair but sat up straight as soon as he heard the tiny cough. His gaze zeroed in on Timmy, who was just waking up, his eyelids fluttering against the dim light in the room.

“Is it time?” Timmy asked. He coughed again, and then again, his tiny frame jerking as he descended into a fit of hacking and gasping.

Armie leaned in, placed a hand on Timmy’s chest and rubbed a slow circle over the blankets. After a few more moments, the coughing blessedly subsided. Timmy drew in a shaky breath, let it out with a shudder.

“Time for what?” Armie asked.

“Time for me. Is it over? Am I going to d—”

“No,” Armie said, squeezing Timmy’s hand convulsively. “Fuck no, you asshole.”

“Are you sure?” Timmy asked. “I feel so…”

“I’m positive. You just got a little cold, that’s all. You’re here for the night, then I’m taking you home. Might stop by the set on the way and beat the shit out of Felix, but…”

“Armie.” Timmy smiled, and rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Armie challenged, but he was smiling too.

They stared at each other, and then Timmy’s smile wavered, his eyes turning bright with moisture. 

“Thanks for being here,” he said. 

“I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else.” Armie brought Timmy’s hand to his lips and kissed each of his knuckles softly.

“I love it when you do that,” Timmy said, his hand flexing in Armie’s grip. “It makes me feel like you...mean it.”

“Mean what?” Armie brushed his lips against Timmy’s knuckles again. 

“When you say you want me around.”

Armie laughed. “Want you around? Timmy...it’s so much more than that.” 

He swallowed. There was something he hadn’t said yet, because it would mean that this thing they’d been doing for nearly a year now was more — much more — than just a casual fling. He knew that saying it would raise questions about the arrangements he had with his wife, about the state of his marriage, about the future. Questions he couldn’t even begin to answer. 

But...fuck, today had scared him. The last couple of _months_ had scared him. So if he was going to say it, he was going to say it now. 

Armie kissed Timmy’s knuckles again, then turned his hand over and kissed his palm before his spoke. “I love you.”

Timmy made a small noise, and his eyes went wide. “You do?”

“Yeah.” Armie gave Timmy a wistful half smile. “For a while now. Maybe since the beginning.”

“What does that mean?” Timmy asked. “We haven’t talked about...will she still be okay with _this_ if it’s not just...just…”

Armie shook his head. “I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out. If you want to, I mean.”

Timmy blinked rapidly, then removed his hand from Armie’s grip and laid it on his cheek. “I love you, too.”

Armie grinned, feeling lighter than he had felt in months. “Good.”

“So,” Timmy said. “This means you _do_ want me around. You’re not sick of me?”

With a laugh, Armie sat back in his chair and shook his head. “I’m sorry, but you’re stuck with me now. Won’t be able to get rid of me.”

“Good,” Timmy said. “Because I want you around, too. All the time.”

* * *

_March 4, 2018_

Timmy opened the door to his hotel room, stepped back to allow Armie to enter, and then stood, shifting from foot to foot, his cheeks turning pink under Armie’s gaze. 

“What?” he asked. 

Armie closed the door behind him and stared, his smile stretching his cheeks so wide they fucking hurt.

“You look…”

“Like I’m bound to spill something on this and ruin the entire night?” Timmy self-consciously swiped his hands along the front of his pristinely white jacket.

“Like an angel,” Armie said. “They’re going to be so completely speechless when they see you.”

“What about _you_?” Timmy asked, moving towards Armie. He rested his palms on Armie’s shoulders and slid them across and down Armie’s sleeves. “You’re like sin itself in this. This deep, red...soft…”

Armie leaned down and captured Timmy’s mouth, lingering there and marveling at the sensation that was as natural as breathing and exhilarating at the same time. He wrapped his arms around Timmy’s waist and pulled him close, slipping his tongue past Timmy’s lips in a practiced move that had Timmy whimpering against his mouth. 

“I’m so fucking _proud_ of you. You know that, right?” Armie murmured, his lips brushing Timmy’s cheek. 

“It’s not just me,” Timmy said. “It’s _you_. If it hadn’t been for you, I never would have—“

“Yeah, you would,” Armie said. “Listen, I am so, _so_ glad I decided to do this movie. That it _was_ me with you, and not...fucking Shia, for God’s sake. But no matter what, you were going to make it here. If not now, for this, at some point for something. Your talent is all you.”

Timmy’s hands moved up into Armie’s hair and tugged — fuck, he’d have to have it restyled, but that was fine — and he took over the kiss, pushing back at Armie with a forceful desperation. Armie felt his knees shake, his head swim, and he gently pulled away. 

“What’s the matter?” Timmy asked, breathless. “Is it time?”

“No — well, kind of, but we’ve got a few minutes before the impatient texts start coming in from the car downstairs.” Armie reached out an arm, braced himself on the wall. “Anyway, it’s not that. I’m feeling a little lightheaded is all.”

“Oh, right. The medicine.” Timmy took Armie’s hand and led him to the small sofa, pushing him onto it and peering down anxiously. “You sure you’re okay to do this tonight? You were really sick.”

“ _Am_ sick,” Armie said. “But there’s no way I’m missing this. Not for anything in the world. When they call your name, I’m going to be right there, cheering so loud you’ll be embarrassed to be with me.” 

He grinned up at Timmy, at his pursed lips, the little wrinkle between his brows, the way his hands seemed to flutter at Armie and then away, too cautious to touch. With a lightning fast motion, he grabbed Timmy’s waist and yanked. Timmy landed on top of him, awkwardly straddling his thighs with one foot on the ground, his mouth a perfect _oh_ shape. 

“What are you doing?” Timmy asked. 

Armie palmed both sides of Timmy’s ass and squeezed, then lifted him up and resettled him into a more comfortable position, his knees on either side of Armie’s hips. He leaned in and placed a row of kisses on the underside of Timmy’s jaw, from his neck to his chin. Timmy tipped his head back and sighed.

“Don’t we have to go?” he asked. “Won’t...she...get mad if we take too long?”

“In a minute,” Armie said. “I’ll just tell her I felt lightheaded and needed to sit for a second. Which is true.”

He licked a stripe from Timmy’s chin down the front of his neck. His progress was impeded by the starched white collar of his tuxedo shirt and the bowtie that sat snugly underneath. 

“But...the red carpet. We’re supposed to—”

“We’ll get there. We have time. It’ll build the anticipation.” Armie tugged at Timmy’s white bowtie with his teeth.

“Hey, wait — what — I don’t want to have to do that all over —” Timmy pulled back, but the end of the bowtie remained in Armie’s teeth, so it unraveled from its tight bow. Armie grinned at the dismayed look on Timmy’s face.

“It’s okay,” he said, around the edge of the material. “It was crooked anyway. I’ll redo it for you.”

“Well, make it worth it then,” Timmy said, his dismay turning to a confident smirk. He reached up a hand and popped the top button of his shirt, then ground his hips forward and leaned back in, presenting his newly exposed neck like a sacred offering.

An hour — and several eyeroll-filled texts, a freshly tied bowtie, and a frantic restyling — later, they glowed their way down the red carpet. 

They had the time of their lives.

* * *

_January 11, 2019_

The door from the patio was sticky, and Armie fought with it a moment before it slid open and allowed him back inside, into the room that was bright with light and noise and motion. Being out on the cold, dark patio for a few minutes, alone with his vape pen, had been exactly what he needed. 

He had a lot to think about, after what Elizabeth had said that morning. She had made some good points, made it clear what she was offering him -- an out -- and why. It seemed they had both moved on in their affections. It was...not a shock, exactly. But something he had been avoiding, so it was odd to have it out in the open.

Armie watched as Timmy moved through the crowd, somehow managing to _not_ look like a leprechaun in his emerald green jacket. He felt a swell of pride at the way everyone seemed to want to talk to Timmy, the way Timmy could make each person feel as if they were the most important person he had ever met.

He understood how they felt, going all starry-eyed under the brilliance of his grin. Timmy had been making _him_ feel that way for nearly three years now. Which is why he had been thinking, turning it all over in his head, for the past few months. 

Was he closer to a decision? Maybe. Maybe not. 

As he watched, Timmy’s head lifted from the conversation he was having. He scanned the room, his gaze finally landing on Armie, and his face lit into a sunny smile. Armie couldn’t help but smile back. 

Timmy said something to the group he was with and crossed to the bar. He engaged in a brief conversation with one of the event hosts, tipping his head back and laughing.

Armie shook his head, the smile still playing on his lips. This man — this charismatic, self-assured man — was one and the same with the nervous, overcompensating kid he had met that afternoon in Italy, in the middle of a piano lesson. He shouldn’t have been surprised, really. Timmy had always had a certain swagger; it’s just that now the swagger was less of an act and more of an honest confidence. 

That swagger was on full display as he left the bar with two glasses and strode languidly across the room. He arrived at Armie’s side and briefly pressed his shoulder into Armie’s bicep. 

“Where’d you go?” he asked, handing over one of the glasses. 

“Out for a smoke,” Armie replied. “You know how I feel about things like this.”

A shade of regret slid over Timmy’s face. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

Shit. He hadn’t meant to make Timmy feel bad. This was _Timmy’s_ event, after all. He and Elizabeth had set it up so that Tim could meet and greet Hollywood power brokers and promote his newest movie. Armie needed to do better, and stop thinking so much about himself. 

“Hey,” he said, “no worries. I’m glad we’re here. I just needed a minute.”

“We can go anytime you want,” Timmy said. 

“What? Don’t be ridiculous.” Armie knocked back half his drink, because _going_ — and taking Timmy with him — was exactly what he wanted. He just knew he had to be patient. He drank the rest, and lowered his glass to see Timmy eyeing him. 

“Come on. We’ve been here for hours. Is it time? Are you about to start...that thing you do?” Timmy nudged Armie’s boot with his own. 

“What _thing_?” Armie frowned. 

“That. What you’re doing. Getting annoyed with everything and drinking too much.” He waved his hand at Armie’s empty glass. 

“ _You_ brought me the drink,” Armie pointed out, hating the way Timmy was right — of course — about the edge of annoyance rippling along his skin, tingling at his teeth. He licked his lips, searching for the taste of bourbon to erase the sudden bitterness. 

“I didn’t tell you to chug it.” Timmy glanced around, and then ran his palm once over Armie’s close-cropped hair in a soothing gesture before tucking his hand safely behind his back. He smiled gently. “Let’s go. We can go back to the hotel, watch something stupid on cable. I’ll massage your shoulders.”

Just like that, the annoyance evaporated. A softness replaced it, and Armie shoved his free hand in his pocket to keep from reaching out and pulling Timmy close, in front of all of these people. 

“Yeah? You’d leave, if I said it was time?” he asked. 

“Of course I would,” Timmy said. “Because I also know you wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t what you really needed.”

Armie stared at Timmy. There was really nothing especially significant about this moment, over the thousands of others they had shared. Hell, they had just spent the better part of the fall in each other's company, using awards shows and events as a convenient excuse. Getting so much public time with each other was a gift that they knew wouldn’t always be given, and they had made the most of it. 

So no, _this_ moment wasn’t really any more significant than when Tim had come to see his play in New York. It wasn’t any more special than Timmy helping him get the GQ reporter drunk and pouring him into his bed at the Sunset Tower before they retreated to Timmy’s own room. It wasn’t any bigger than when Tim had giggled his way around the Governor’s Awards telling everyone they were lovers as if it were a joke. 

But here, with his newly grown curls a soft halo around his face, the green of his eyes heightened by his bright jacket, the concerned way he was leaning up against Armie’s side to show his support…

...Armie knew. He knew exactly what he wanted. 

He opened his mouth to say it, and then closed it again. His wife was crossing toward them, several people in tow, including the woman was helping to host the event. 

“There you are,” Elizabeth said, flashing a smile. 

“Here we are,” Armie acknowledged, but she was already turning to Timmy. 

“We wanted a photo, for the ‘gram,” she said. “Hostess request.”

“Sure,” Timmy said. “No problem.”

He turned towards the man with the camera and flung his arm around Armie’s neck. Armie put his own arm around Timmy, gripping his shoulder a little more firmly than maybe he should. He noted that Timmy’s torso moved a few inches from him as Elizabeth crowded in to Timmy’s other side and tugged him closer to her. They all looked into the camera and Armie did his best to smile, even though his head was spinning at its recent revelation. 

After the photo, they got into a conversation with some of the other guests. Timmy stayed close by Armie’s side, frequently laying a hand on his arm or chest or elbow. To others, it probably seemed like a casual gesture. Armie knew it was Timmy’s way of checking in on him. He gave him a reassuring smile, mouthed the words _I’m fine_ , and Timmy seemed to relax once more.

They’d talk later, when they were alone. He’d let Timmy know he was finally ready to move forward, change the status quo. He prayed that Timmy still wanted that. But it could wait until later.

Now wasn’t the time.

* * *

_January 29, 2020_

Armie opened the door to the Uber X and stepped out onto the sidewalk. He waved to the driver before shutting the door, and the car zipped back into traffic. He held his phone tightly in his hand as he entered the hotel and made his way through the vestibule. His fingers itched, and it was all he could do to resist making the call immediately...but it would be better on all fronts if he made it into the safety of his room first.

On the way up in the elevator, he opened Instagram again and tapped Timmy’s icon at the top of the screen. He quickly scrolled through the screenshots of songs — for the love of god, he had gone for it — to the final photo. He pressed his thumb onto the screen to pause the story.

_That little shit._

Armie huffed a breath through his nose and clenched his teeth as he stared at the mirror selfie of Timmy, with his back fully on display, the ribbons of the sparkly Louis Vuitton bib loose and taunting. Timmy had covered his face with a giant “cold” emoji, and blacked out his cell phone screen, but that didn’t matter. Armie could still see the _look_ Timmy had had on his face that night, the one that dared him to come and get it.

Because that selfie was saved to his phone, as it had been since he first received it over a year earlier. He remembered the night well. They weren’t supposed to see each other that night; they had the HFA awards the next day, and Armie was spending the evening at home with his kids while Elizabeth went out with some friends. Tim had been disappointed, but had _said_ he understood. Armie had even invited him to come to the house, but he had said something about needing sleep anyway.

Then, as Armie was minding his own business, putting the kids to bed, _that_ selfie had come in. Once the kids were asleep, he had called Nick to come babysit and had broken every land-speed record in history to get to the damned hotel. Timmy had known that would be the result.

To post it publicly felt like a slap in the face. That was _their_ photo. With _their_ history attached to it. It wasn’t meant for anyone else, and Timmy knew that.

As soon as the door to his hotel room slammed shut behind him, Armie swapped over to FaceTime and dialed Tim. The call was declined immediately. Armie dialed again, and then a third time. Bands of panic wrapped around his chest, and he tried not to give in to the pressure.

Finally, Timmy’s face came into view. It was carefully blank. 

“I literally just talked to you,” he said. “What could you possibly want?”

“Don’t be an asshole,” Armie said. He shrugged out of his coat and let it fall to the floor. “You know why I’m calling. Take it down.”

“Take what down?”

“Tim.” Armie sank onto the bed. “Come on. Don’t—”

“No.”

“No what?”

“No, I’m not taking it down. It’s getting a lot of response.” He looked smug, the fucker. 

Armie’s nostrils flared, and he took a deep breath. “Okay. I know you’re mad at me, but I told you, I can’t just—”

“I’m not mad,” Tim said, his voice deliberately light, a false smile on his face. “Why would you think I’m mad?”

“For fuck’s sake, you...you’re not playing fair. I never thought you’d act like…” Armie trailed off as Timmy’s face morphed into a _don’t go there_ warning.

“Hey, you fucking _promised—_ ” Timmy started.

“I did. I’m sorry. Forget that part. But come on. We had a small argument, and you—”

“ _Small_ argument? Armie, you basically said that you didn’t have time for me. You’ve _never_ said that before.”

“I didn’t say—” Armie began, but Timmy shook his head, his hair flying.

“You did. You said, and I quote, ‘I can’t come to the Oscars with you, I’m too busy for that.’” 

Armie hesitated, and he saw the hurt evident in Timmy’s eyes. _Fuck,_ he had said that. He hadn’t meant it the way Timmy had taken it, but that didn’t matter. He shouldn’t have said it, not after they’d spent the better part of the last year stealing time together like thieves and hiding from everyone. Not after he had spent the past month and a half participating in an Instagram show that had to have hurt Timmy to see. It had a purpose, but it sucked. And it had impacted them both. He should have been more reassuring, more understanding. Made more of an effort.

Before Armie could speak up and say any of that, Timmy let out a shaky breath.

“Is it time?” he asked.

“Time for what?” The question derailed Armie’s thoughts.

“Time for us to break up.” Timmy’s voice went quiet, and his head fell, his hair cascading to hide his features. The bands in Armie’s chest squeezed, and the pain that accompanied it made it hard to breath.

“Do you want to break up?” Armie asked, barely managing to get the words out. _Please please please_ , he begged silently. _Please don’t say yes_. If the answer was yes, then rehearsals be damned he was getting on a plane to New York within the next hour. There was no way he was going to let this happen over the phone.

“No.” The reply came in a whimper, from beneath a wild mane of hair.

The relief Armie felt was mixed with frustration at not being able to reach through the phone and wrap his arms around the man he loved with all his heart.

“Good,” Armie said. “Hey, look at me. I need to...I need your face right now.”

Slowly, Timmy raised his head and pushed his hair out of his face, revealing red-rimmed eyes and a pink nose.

“Baby,” Armie whispered. “The last thing in the world that I want is to break up. Shit, what I want is to be with you right now. More than anything. Do you believe me?”

Timmy nodded, but didn’t speak.

“I didn’t mean that I was too busy for you. I shouldn’t have even said that. I just meant that I have to be here Monday morning, and…” Armie sighed. “Actually, you probably know what the issue is. If I go to the Oscars as your plus one—”

“I know,” Timmy said. “I know. It’ll look weird, and...damn it. I know better.”

“Almost, baby.” Armie smiled and reached a hand towards the screen, as if he could touch Timmy that way. “We’re almost there.”

Timmy’s tongue flicked out, ran along his lower lip. Armie wanted to grab it with his teeth and tug, hear that little noise Timmy always made when he was feeling _handled_. 

But then he frowned. “All we do is wait,” he mumbled. Then he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m just...being impatient is my curse.”

“You’ve been incredibly patient. More than I deserve.” Armie rolled onto his back and tucked a hand behind his head. “I’m the one who’s sorry. We’ve been apart too much, and that’s my fault.”

The screen tilted a moment, and Armie realized that Timmy was moving onto his back on his own bed.

“You still love me?” Timmy asked. 

“More than ever,” Armie said.

“Even when I act like—”

“All the time.”

Timmy let out a long breath. “I’ll take it down. I shouldn’t have put it up. I know it was ours.”

“Leave it,” Armie said.

“Leave it?” Timmy’s brows drew together.

“Yeah, if you take it down now, people will pay even more attention to it and wonder what you were up to. At least you covered up your face. Besides, I…” he grinned. “I sort of like that everyone knows exactly what a lucky bastard I am.”

Timmy grinned back. “Yeah, you are a lucky bastard. Who’s about to get luckier.”

“I am?” Armie’s pulse jumped at Timmy’s tone, which spoke of mischief and temptation.

The image on the screen flipped crazily, landed on the ceiling, then when it righted itself, Timmy was shirtless. He trailed his fingers up his chest and circled his left nipple, his tongue appearing from between his teeth for a moment and then retreating behind an impish smile. “What are you up to right now?”

Armie grinned and yanked his own shirt over his head. “I have some time,” he said.

* * *

_May 8, 2021_

Armie knocked on the thick wooden door, then depressed the iron latch and pushed it open without waiting for a response. He stopped short, his hand still gripping the metal, as soon as the room behind was revealed.

_Holy shit._

“Is it time?” Timmy asked. The mirror in front of him was angled so that it didn’t reflect the door, and he was focused on his own image, tugging at the cuffs of his jacket and brushing at the lapels. Behind him, sun sparkled off of the crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean and streamed through the window, lighting Timmy up as if he were standing in a spotlight.

He looked even more amazing than Armie had ever seen him, and that was saying a lot. His hair fell in shiny curls around his face, and the grey textured suit with subtle green accents was fitted perfectly. Armie shook his head.

“Not quite yet,” he said softly.

Timmy whirled around, shock on his face. “You...you’re not supposed to be here,” he said. “It’s bad luck.”

“I couldn’t wait,” Armie said. He closed the door behind him and crossed the room. His hands moved of their own volition to span the satin cummerbund at Timmy’s waist. “I needed to see you.”

Timmy’s body responded naturally, swaying towards Armie, his hands resting on Armie’s shoulders. The shock over, he smiled a nervous smile.

“You having second thoughts?” he asked, the words tumbling out in a shaky breath.

“Not a one,” Armie said. “You?”

“Never,” Timmy said. “Never once, in five years, have I had second thoughts about wanting to be with you.”

“Neither have I.”

Armie dipped his head and kissed Timmy softly. Timmy opened up to him immediately, lips parting and tongues sliding together in a sweetness that had never lost its thrill. When he was done, Timmy sighed and leaned his forehead against Armie’s.

“Good,” Timmy said. “Then marry me already. I think we’ve waited long enough.”

Armie’s heart swelled. “Yes,” he said. “It’s time.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm onlyastoryteller on Tumblr if you need to yell at me.


End file.
